


Under Construction

by Plugs



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23434060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plugs/pseuds/Plugs
Summary: Fics focusing on the g1 constructicons, may contain mild IDW seasoning but still g1 at its heart.Put on your hard hats and beware falling headcannons, AUs and hanky panky.Minor warnings are in the notes of each chapter.
Relationships: Hook/Scrapper
Comments: 66
Kudos: 33





	1. Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fic years ago and have been tinkering with and editing it for a while. It feels like a good place to start this series.
> 
> Warning for melancholy and the post apocalypse of an alien world that’s neither cybertron or earth.
> 
> If due to current times you’d prefer something more light hearted, skip to the next chapter.  
> [20/Oct/2020 - minor edits to text, added an endnote.]

“These designs are crude.” Hook frowned. “impressive for organic perhaps but primitive—I’m curious what you see in them Scrapper.”  
  
Scrapper could hear Scavenger searching through the debris behind him. The excavators happiness fluttering in the bond. Bonecrusher was leaning against a wall and not even trying to pretend he wasn’t bored out of his processors. 

Another dry breeze blew, debris and dust danced in the air. Thick clouds held onto the muggy heat. It was only just tolerable for cybertronians, even ones as adapted to adverse environments as the constructicons.   
  
When they’d broken though the clouds even Astrotrain had noticed the planet was too dry for the dams, canals, docks that could be found criss crossing below. The high radioactive decay and organic support struts scattered everywhere told a clear and harrowing story.

“Scrapperm your thoughts? preferably this decaorn,” Hook prompted.

“If you look at some of the later constructions they do resemble the early era praxian crystal towers, albeit in different materials,” Scrapper replied. “The humans have similar buildings which is curious.”  
  
Scavenger stopped digging momentarily to look at something and tilted his helm.  
  
“...hm, perhaps this is an architectural phase many species go though?” Hook said. “you’re thinking of writing another book aren’t you?”

“Given how long it’ll take to get rid of the radioactive interference preventing energon detection, then dig up the energon, convert it to cubes and haul it off planet...I might have time,” Scrapper said.

“Good, you’re my favourite author on the subject.” Hook let their fingers brush. “of course, I hold some personal bias.”

Scrapper could hear the turn of Hooks systems and the soft whoosh of his fans. His own were irregular and rasped no matter how often they were replaced. The dust in the hot air didn't help and irritated the protoform deep damage already present.  
  
Scavenger had shown his prize to Bonecrusher who directed him to Hook and Scrapper. Scavenger’s tail sagged gradually downwards then sprung up as he scrambled over rubble towards them.

”Hey, look!” He waved something in their optics.  
  
“ _Scavenger._ ” Hook glared. “we are discussing important—”   
  
“I think it’s a set of image captures of the organics who lived here—made using chemical inks on organic fibres,” Scavenger continued, regardless of Hook’s scowl.  
  
Scrapper took the object. It fitted in the palm of his hand and was faded from age. The text wasn’t in any of Scrapper’s language packs but the images could be made out. It showed blue and green organics in various poses, clearly a newspad of some sort.

“Yes very good Scavenger...” Hook patted the mech on his helm.  
  
“Those look like the bunkers in Iacon, and that looks like a missile casing.” Scavenger’s tail wagged rapidly.  
  
But before Scavenger could continue Bonecrushers voice boomed on the external com, “Boss, me an’ Mix found the source of the heavy radiation readings, looks like some kinda unexploded primitive fission bomb—Mix’ stop licking it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrapper’s vent issue is based on that g1 episode where he wheezes a lot while speaking.


	2. Coffee morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Created using the prompt “Your characters discussed how to solve a problem while having coffee”
> 
> City of steel was a weird g1 episode, even for g1.  
> [20/Oct/2020 edits to text]

“I am afraid we have to comply with Lord Megatron’s orders...”  
  
Hook managed to lift his helm enough to give a reproachful look in Scrappers general direction. The bleary static of his optic band took the sharpness from Hook’s glare. It was quite adorable, especially the ever denied pout.

Scrapper smiled and continued to work the oil dispenser. It sounded like a launching shuttle as it produced oil in spurts. He then put the cube of oil near Hook’s servo and the cube was grabbed. After a slurp Hook gave his usual grunt of thanks.

As he sipped his own oil Scrapper felt glad he didn't have to make a ‘taxi’ into an attack drone like Hook. Hook was already in a sour mood and no amount of oil would sooth having to complete the tedious task. 

However, Scrapper had to organise cyberforming which was just as tedious. He had no idea how the slag was he supposed to cyberform an _entire_ organic city with only a single flock of seekers to spread the nanites. Which meant his team had to work with _seekers_. Scrapper would be spending half his time wanting to punch something, and the rest of it peeling Mixmaster off Skywarp.

Creating war drones from flimsy primitive organic machines suddenly seemed appealing.  
  
Earlier in the week Scrapper had tried to explain to Megatron that this plan would require extensive labor for potentially small results. Hook had followed this up by bluntly saying it was a stupid plan.  
  
The charged fusion cannon made it clear criticism wasn’t welcome. 

“...why couldn’t we just use normal attack drones?” Hook grumbled as he glared at the plans. “why the frag are we doing this pointless contrived nonsense. what’s next, a giant purple mechanimal?”

Scrapper sighed. He’d need high grade later.

* * *

*it is a universal constant that any kind of coffee machine, even for advanced robotic aliens, sounds like it's about to explode or take off into orbit.


	3. Treasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scavenger finds some treasures in the rubble of a human town and reflects on his team.

Scavenger searched through the half destroyed buildings his tail wriggling as he did. The town was one of many that had been abandoned because of the war on earth, and humans left their odd delicate shelters full of treasure.

One of Scavenger’s favourites were hollow glass ovoids filled with wax, water and a primitive bulb. If he could get enough electrical energy into the ovoids the wax melted into pretty blobs illuminated by the light. If he put in too much energy they exploded.

...Hot wax did not improve Bonecrusher’s mood and Scavenger was lying low until he’d calmed down. 

The excavator continued to search, then he found a mostly intact housing unit and saw something _amazing_. They were an ugly neon yellow and made of weak metal and plastic, but aside from composition and colour they were tiny replicas of his and the other Constructicon’s altmodes. 

Scavenger picked the crane up. “Hello I'm Hook! I think I'm really smart, but actually I have a huge stick up...m...my..affhhhhaaa!” He stifled his giggles and continued, “I’m actually smart and good at medical stuff, I sometimes read my books to Scavenger even if he doesn’t understand them.”

He picked up the bulldozer next. “I’m Bonecrusher or Scrapper, I’m loud...or modest about everything.” Scavenger sighed, “pity there’s only one bulldozer—I dunno if I should put him next to Hook or have him smash some walls because he’s bored.”

Scavenger decided to put the bulldozer toy next to ‘Hook’ but with some tiny chunks of rubble nearby.

“Anyway I’m super good at designing things...or breaking them,” Scavenger finished.

“Here we have Mixmaster!” Scavenger held the mixing truck up and spun its drum with a digit.“I do really nice high grade and I give Scavenger treats because I like him!” Scavenger didn’t imitate the stutter—Mixmaster had squirted acid at Wildrider when he’d tried.

The mining truck was far too small to be accurate to Longhaul’s altmode, but it still looked like him. “I’m Longhaul and if I knew how yellow I was I’d moan even more—I just like complaining but I also cuddle Scavenger when he’s sad.”

Then finally there was the excavator, “I’m Scavenger and I...”  
Scavenger looked at the tiny digger sitting in his palm, “I find stuff sometimes it’s useful but most mechs think it’s trash...my team is nice but...I wish I was good enough for them.”


	4. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one mech worthy of Hooks admiration. Or more accurately, one mech and his servos.
> 
> This fic contains hand kink, hand licking, worship and praise in a S/D dynamic, Hook’s ego and Scrappers morally questionable carpentry.

Hook knelt.

Scrapper was seated on his throne. It was offensively asymmetrical to Hook’s optics, but objects made from dead mechs didn’t lend themselves to symmetry.

Hook’s master, the only one worthy of his obedience, beckoned with a finger. Hook crawled forward to the jagged throne and placed his servos on Scrapper’s lap. His helm cast low in respect as he ached to worship.

There was a gentle intrusion into his mouth as a finger began to press between his lips, Hook parted his jaw to welcome it. The digit began to explore his mouth and Hook moaned around it.

“Good mech.” 

His engine purred at the praise as he licked and sucked the finger. Hook’s tongue mapped its scars and roughness. Scrapper’s hands were calloused from hard labour yet created architectural masterpieces with their dexterity. They tasted of bitter ink and worksite grit—a familiar flavour.

Scrapper’s first finger was removed and another offered, Hook kissed and nuzzled the hand in thanks. Oral solvent was a poor cleaner, but that wasn’t the point. This wasn’t maintenance of the physical body but adoration of its form. 

After all, a truly beautiful pair of hands were hard to find.

Ratchet had quite an exquisite pair, but he was on the other side of the war, and hated Hook. Swindle was on the right side and had elegant hands but was a gestalt-traitor and deserved nothing but Hook’s distain. Other mechs hands were ugly or so dirty he would need a rust shot before they even touched him. 

It didn’t matter, Hook had Scrapper. Scarred, flawed and _perfect_ Scrapper.

“Pet, why have you stopped?” Scrapper asked interrupting Hook’s thoughts.

Hook released the digit. “I...I was thinking how all other mechs are inferior to you sir, and unworthy of me—I am sorry for becoming distracted sir.” his faceplate was already burning, but new heat flooded him.

Scrapper petted Hook’s helm. “Such a sweet pet, I forgive you _this time_ , but don’t forget your place.” his wet digit tapped Hook’s nose.

Hook cast his helm down in repent. His cables ached and his fans roared but Hook ignored them, he wasn’t worthy of relief yet. A digit pressed to his lips and he began his adoration once more.


	5. Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scavenger looses a beloved pet, Hook attempts some level of sympathy. 
> 
> Warning for keeping a human as a pet, me doing another sad Scavenger fic and Hook sucking at sympathy but he’s trying at least.

The organic had lost most of its fur, Scavenger stroked the patches that were left.

He let out a soft keen as the pet curled up tighter, it's ventilations shallow and strained. Scavenger tried to keep it warm with the softest organic meshes he could find. Then pulled it up close to his anxiously pounding spark. 

Scavenger’s room on the base was filled with his collection, bright colourful objects that made him feel happy. But now it felt so cold. The toys he had crafted for his pet were gathering dust, unused for months. 

He tried to pulse love and comfort though his spark waves, but his pet kept breathing shallowly. 

“I got Mixmaster to synthesise something to make its passing easier,” Hook said, stepping though the door.  
  
“You said it didn't really love me.” Scavenger glared at Hook. “you’ve spent so long calling my pet nasty things and now you’re _pretending_ to care.”

Hook frowned, the creature lacked a spark so probably wasn’t even sentient let alone sapient. Saying this to Scavenger however resulted in the excavator refusing to talk to him for cycles.Scavenger was truly infatuated by the damned organic, teaching it tricks and to run little mazes. Even getting it to repeat some rudimentary spoken glyphs. 

But after a mere vorn the organic began to weaken and die. It refused food and began to excrete waste outside of its disposal area, amongst other disgusting things. 

Now Scavenger’s distress over this dying creature was starting to affect them all as it trickled down the gestalt bonds, it was a deep underlying current of melancholy. When Bonecrusher of all mechs started moping something needed to be done.  
  
“A-all right, you can do it,” Scavenger said, “Just be nice...or pretend better.”  
  
Hook moved closer to Scavenger and the organic. It looked worse close up, bundled in garish organic meshes and it was wet. It smelled rotten like spoiled energon jelly. But being a medic Hook knew how to hide disgust, it wouldn’t do to upset Scavenger more after all.

He had been forced to craft a chemical patch with Mixmaster’s aid. Because even the finest needles used on recordicons were far too big for a delicate organic—dammed thing had always been difficult to treat and broke so easily. 

Hook applied the patch to an area of protoform near the organics neck. Almost immediately it’s breathing began to slow. Then it stopped.

“Well then I—“

Scavenger was shaking.

Hook sighed and allowed Scavenger to curl up with him. The disgusting thing was still in that blanket deactivated, but the gestalt bond won against disgust as Scavenger sobbed.


	6. Sparkly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t just Scavenger who is easily distracted by sparkly things...

“Mix, what are you doing?” Bonecrusher knocked on the laboratory door. “Cuz Scrapper wants you to clean up that mess you made of the common room.”

“Why, Bonecrusher, I’m playing with fire!” Mixmaster followed this by giggling. That particular giggling that meant either a lewd joke or trouble, and it was probably trouble.

“Oh frag no, I’m coming in. You ain't burning down our base _again!_ ” Bonecrusher did a manual override of the door—he transformed into bulldozer mode and ramming it down.

“Ah!—Crusher you nearly made me drop mine!” Scavenger whined.

“Hello!” Mixmaster said cheerfully. “Do you wa-a-ant to join in?”

Bonecrusher transformed, shook off some debris and blinked in disbelief. Scavenger and Mixmaster were holding metal sticks that sparked brightly at the top. “What the frag are _those_?” Bonecrusher asked. 

“The humans call them-m sparklers—w-a-atch.” Mixmaster waved his stick around. For a few seconds Bonecrusher saw sparkling written glyphs in the air.

Mixmaster beamed. “isn’t it grea-a-at!—they don’t explode either.”

“Well the first few did—“ Scavenger began.

“—Except they don’t now,” Mixmaster finished. “Why don’t you join in Bonecrushe-r-r?”

“I’m supposed to be getting you to clean the common room.” Bonecrusher crossed his arms. “You left crumbs an’ acid burns everywhere.”

“If you take Mix back you’ll be stuck watching him. ‘cause Scrapper won’t let Mix clean unsupervised,” Scavenger said. “Not after that time with the cleaning fluids.”

Mixmaster shrugged. “I thought mixing them would make them more effective. didn’t realise they’d cause a hallucinogenic affect—Hook thinking he was a petrorabbit was quite an unexpected reaction.”

“Yeah. Scrapper was really torked off an...” Bonecrusher paused. “oh frag I _am_ gonna be sat there sparkling sitting you ain’t I?—gimme one of those sparkly things”

* * *

  
Longhaul huffed. Bonecrusher was supposed to collect Mix but he never came back. Meaning _he_ had to go collect his errant gestalt mates.

“Great, I’m supposed to be on my break an’ I gotta get at least two bolt brains so they’ll clean up like adult mechs.” 

He’d been instructed by Scrapper to carry them if necessary. So he was hauling stuff around on his break. _great_.

When he arrived at the lab the door was destroyed from the outside. Haul stepped though expecting anything from an orgy to a smoking blast site. 

Instead Bonecrusher was waving around a sparkling stick. “Oh, hey there Haul, you wanna join in?”   


* * *

*Laboratory/high grade brewery/the cybertronian equivalent of a weed farm. Mixmaster’s room was many highly questionable things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (22/Jun/2020)
> 
> If you have noticed a missing chapter I was rather unhappy with the execution so I’m rethinking it. 
> 
> More fics for this series will happen at some point :0


	7. University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One version of how Hook and Scrapper met. Based on some of the authors experiences of university, going to events only for the free buffet and anxiety.

Hook sighed and sat back on his berth to read his datapad. He had a steaming cube of oil ready to be sipped. After a long orn sitting in lectures then working on his assignments he was ready to relax. 

But just as he’d got comfortable an engine started from the other side of the room. More specifically, the messy side.

“Good evening Mixmaster,” Hook said. He was used to Mixmaster’s nonsensical recharge cycle by now.

Mixmaster blinked a few times. “Ca-an I borrow your polish?”

“No. Don’t you have your own polish?”

Mixmaster shrugged. “I ate it.”

Hook sighed. “ _Again_? This is why I don’t let you borrow mine—what is it for anyway?”

“I got invited to a par-rty—you’d like it.”

Hook rolled his optics. “Mixmaster, I do not like noise, I do not like crowds and I do not like overstimulation—therefore I do not like parties.”

“This one is diff-ffrent.” Mixmaster got up and walked over to Hook’s side of the room. “No music and only a few mec-chs. There’s not even high gra-ade.” Mixmaster grinned. “it’s a student organised ar-rt show.”

“...then why on cybertron are _you_ going?” Because Mixmaster loved dancing badly, drinking highgrade and fragging strangers. Usually in that order.

Mixmaster smirked. “Free food.”

* * *

“I could be sitting on my berth reading right now,” Hook huffed, “Instead I’m walking though the art department hoping that smell is bonding agent not syk.”

“It’s bonding agen-t—really nice on silico-n wafers,” Mixmaster said.

“Mixmaster, How the frag are you still alive?” Hook groaned, “Primus. _why_ am I doing this.”

“We haven’t even got ther-re yet.” Mixmaster put an arm around Hook’s shoulder. “Do it for the free foo-d and hot art students.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Hook sighed. 

By that point they’d arrived. An obnoxious neon printed banner announced the exhibition, and they walked though the open door below it. The room was white and bland, so a perfectly standard modern gallery. It was filled with sculptures, paintings and installations. There was also a large buffet table.

“You want m-me I’m by the food.” Mixmaster patted Hook on the shoulder and left.

Hook looked at the nearest price of artwork. He felt emotions rise up in him like an energon well ready to burst to the surface.

“This...” he paused. “is a load of pretentious _nonsense_.”

Almost every mech in the room turned to look. Hook felt like an army was bearing down on him. He swallowed and tried to keep himself from reaching back for his hook and line. He glared in an oblivious Mixmaster’s direction—Hook resolved himself to pour all of Mixmaster’s washer-fluid down the drain. 

“So you think the bodily diversity of ground frames is _nonsense_?” A teal mech sneered at Hook. “My paintings show racers desexualised and without the airbrushing found in magazines and media.”

“Well...” Hook looked down at his hands and realised he was cradling his hook and running his line though his fingers. He could feel the crowd bearing down on him and the urge to run became unbearable.

“Why is a crane lecturing us about art anyway?” Someone whispered. 

_Why is a crane trying to be a medic. Why isn’t that crane in a building site. Doesn’t he know cranes aren’t supposed to do more than lift things?_

Hook felt rage burn deep in his chassis. He jabbed his digit at the paintings. “You claim to present diversity, yet only feature abled framed mechs who were forged as racers.” 

“but—“ the mech stuttered.

”You purposely exclude heavier ground frames and...well I think you are...“ Hook vented, “—No better than those you claim to be critical of!” Hook put his servos on his hips.

“Fragging critics!” The teal mech hissed and stomped out of the room.

“What about me?” A visored mech said and met Hooks gaze. “I relish honest critique from a mech who sees though my preconceived visions and notions.”

The choice of words made more emotion bubble up inside Hook, but different ones. He looked over to the mech and his work. Up on the wall was a scan of a mechs chest internals. The fans and vents were misaligned and damaged. Next to the scan was a sculpture cast in furnace slag.

Hook quickly realised the scan, the sculpture and mech were one in the same. The mech had taken a body some would consider malfunctioned and created _art_.

He was the most _beautiful_ mech Hook had ever seen. But in the face of beauty his anger evaporated and fear rushed in to fill it. The roaring sea of terror consumed Hook and he fled.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Will he be okay?”

“Yeah he just needs spac-ce and a cube of coolant.” Mixmaster said. “I shouldn’t have left him like that—I’m fragging sor-ry I wanted us to do something togeth-er as friends for once.”

Friends. Mixmaster saw them as _friends_. Hook had been told so many times how unlikable he was. How boring he was. Mixmaster, a poplar partygoer, _liked_ him?

“I brought coolant.”

Hook didn’t look up but still recognised the voice as the beautiful mech.

“Swiftdrift needed taking down a few pegs,” the mech said. He didn’t have a visible face but Hook thought he was smiling.

The open cube of coolant was put in his servo. Hook lifted it gingerly to his mouth and sipped it.

“I’m Scrapper by the way,” The mech, Scrapper, told them.

“Mixmaster—but most mec-chs call me Mix’.” 

“I don’t.” Hook looked up at Mixmaster. “And I am _never_ with coming to you to a party again.”

“Fair enough,” Mixmaster agreed. He then pulled several disposable plastic fuel utensils out of his subspace and began eating them.

“...uh,” Scrapper turned to Hook. “...is he actually eating those?”

Hook cleared his vocaliser, “yes, and I have no idea how he does it.”

“If I could get a scan of his internals I could create a fascinating sculptural form...”

“No!” Mixmaster crossed his arms across his chassis. “Honestly, what it is wi-th mechs and trying to get insi-de me.”

Mixmaster laughed out loud, Scrapper sniggered and even Hook found himself snorting.

“How about we ha-ve our own party—just us three bac-k in dorms,” Mixmaster said.

“I’ve found myself free tonight and in good company,” Scrapper replied.

Hook sighed, “Very well, but Mixmaster owes me a hot cup of oil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry. Hook gets help with his confidence and becomes the obnoxious aft we all know and love. 
> 
> [1 July 2020. Small edits to polish/fiddle.]


	8. A (slightly) devastating mistake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the death of unknown humans, gore, implied sex, mechpreg and dubcon. Because the wishes of a gestalt might not be the same as their components.  
> [1 December 2020 - edits to fic wording.]

Devastator had demolished a human military base so the seekers could steal an experimental fuel cells from the adjacent lab in the confusion. Now he was distracting the Autobots from perusing the seekers with a wriggling mass of humans in his servo as hostage.

“Devastator!” Bruticus’s voice thundered. The other gestalt was apparently aiding in the Autobot distracting....or he’d just forgotten to decombine. Bruticus wasn’t known for being the brightest laser in the array. 

Devestator rolled his optics. “Devestator is busy!” he yelled at the other gestalt.

Devastator wondered, if he waved the humans around would the Autobot’s move their helms like a turbohound following a treat? He snorted at the mental image.

“Devastator is ignoring Bruticus for worthless organics!” Bruticus stomped over and squeezed Devastator’s servo with his. The humans exploded in a mess of red liquid.

“What the frag is wrong with Bruticus!?” Devestator roared. His servo was now covered in lumps of human protoform and their juices were seeping into his joints. A large blob was splattered on his faceplate. “Is Bruticus trying to goad Devestator into destroying him?!”

“Bruticus wants to...” the gestalt cleared his vocaliser. “frag?”

Devastator was surrounded by the cloying heat and smoke of burning human buildings and now covered in organic fluids. Bruticus was charming as a drunk sharkticon and about as attractive.

Devastator sighed. “Not like Devestator will get any better offers.”

* * *

“Devestator and Bruticus are having fun,” Sideswipe said.

“I do _not_ care what they are doing.” Prowl looked intently at the ground. “you and Sunstreaker aid in rescuing what humans we still can while they are...distracted.”

A rumbling groan vibrated the ground.

Sideswipe tilted his helm. “didn’t think Devastator would be on the bottom.”

“Too much information Sideswipe!”

* * *

Hours later the Constructicons decombined in a steaming heap.

“Damn that was good. Whatever it was,” Bonecrusher muttered into the ground. “...I feel like I got ran over by Motormaster. is someone licking me?”

“Human juices taste nice.” Mixmaster giggled. “You’re like an energon pop.”

“...An’ now I wish Motormaster actually ran me over,” Bonecrusher groaned.

“I think my interfacing wires are short circuited.” Longhaul winced. “They ain’t meant to take a whole gestalt sized overload. Wait...Devy’ fragged someone?”

“We didn’t even get to cuddle after.” Scavenger hugged his knees and pouted. 

“Dunno, I’m tired,” Scrapper mumbled. Then unceremoniously fell over into recharge on the spot. 

When he sat up Hook realised there was organic filth oozing under his plating. He screamed. _Loudly_.

“Primus. Whoever you are deactivate more quietly,” Onslaught hissed. He winced at his aching cables. Blastoff helped him up and was managing some dignity despite events.

“No one tore out _my_ cables,” Vortex whined. Swindle got up and edged away from his gestalt mate. Only to trip over a dazed Brawl. 

The Constructicons and Combaticons looked at each other in horrified silence. It was only broken by Hook’s broken whimpering.

Bonecrusher realised he was the highest ranking Constructicons who wasn’t in recharge or crying about organic juices, so he cleared his vocaliser. “Uh, ‘Haul’s cables aside that was fun. But I’m gonna pretend it didn’t happen since I can’t stand most of you.”

“Bruticus and Devastator fought then...decombined,” Onslaught said. “We have no need to ever discuss this as nothing happened.”

“Yeah, that’s good enough for me,” Bonecrusher replied.

* * *

“Well,” Hook said months later. “We’re not dying, but we’re all sparked.”

“So,” Bonecrusher cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Who else wants to go beat child support out of the Combaticons?”


	9. Scrapper doesn’t die in this one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a self indulgent fic about an event that annoyed me. Both because it killed off a character I like and because the manner of death and who did it annoyed me. But then it became a bit more than that.
> 
> This situation and version of Spike is from IDW1 but the background narrative doesn’t exactly follow IDW1’s continuity. 
> 
> Warnings for serious injury, eye trauma, non graphic blood and snark against a character the author doesn’t like. Oh and a reference to sex.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> 

“Stop playing _machine_ and show yourself!”

Scrapper whipped out his gun on instinct but was met with only pain. He didn’t know what hit him. Well, not until the human started gloating about it.

“You’re helplessly pinned with steal beams and blinded with acid, how does it _feel_ machine?”

“...only pierced my shoulder joint,” Scrapper said. “Earth metals...won’t exactly cut though Cybertronian armour like a hot knife though lead.” He had only badly dented the rest his armour. However, from the warnings in his HDU Scrapper knew the beam impaling his shoulder had ruptured a major energon line. The beam itself was plugging the tide of enegon and he couldn’t risk removing it lest he bleed out.

...Alternatively he’d deactivate from embarrassment at being ambushed by a _human_. Primus, his team would never let him live this down.

“You’re still blinded,” the human said.

“My visor is designed to protect me from most workplace accidents, including caustic chemical exposure,” Scrapper replied. “If it makes you feel better, some acid did get under it.”

“Shut up!” the human yelled again. “Do you know who I am?”

Scrapper frowned. He soon regretted this as acid bit into his faceplate. “...no,” he hissed. “I don’t keep track of humans, but do go on.”

“My name is Spike Witwicky. I’ve trained for months for this moment. You machines think you’re so smart and advanced, but you're just tin men. I’m going show everyone you can be killed without any of the high tech you machines use.”

”...Right,” Scrapper said. He commed the other Constructicons with his coordinates and a simple message. [Urgent, under attack. Medical care needed.] He was immediately responded too with [acknowledged.] pings by the others.

“You murdered Tim Simmons, the bravest man I ever met and left his kid fatherless. You machines are immoral monsters who—“

“—Wait.” Scrapper said, cutting the human off. “‘ _Witwicky_ ’ I recognise that name, aren't you one of the humans who trades with Swindle?”

“I needed tools to destroy you machines! It was a necessary evil,” Spike insisted.

”You traded with _Swindle_. The weapons dealer who sells things violating even our Deception war conventions. A mech who kills humans for not paying him on time. _That_ Swindle,” Scrapper said.

“Stop it!” Spike yelled. “Stop trying to confuse me! I shouldn’t have let you live this long.” Scrapper’s vision was reducing rapidly as the acid eat away at his optic bulbs. But he could still see the human lifting his gun.

“You’re trying to kill me with my own gun,” Scrapper said.

“Yes, like you _deserve_ ,” Spike growled as he lifted Scrapper’s gun and tried to wrestle it into position.

“You’re killing me low tech weapons to prove a point...but you’re holding my high tech laser gun.”

“Shut up!” Spike pulled the trigger.

Scrapper winced, tensing in preparation for the end. After a half minute he turned his remaining optics back on. “...oh.”

Spike was covered in external coolant from hefting the heavy Cybertronan sized weapon. “Why didn’t it fire?” Spike panted.

“Aren’t...you supposed to be a soldier?” Scrapper said. Warnings about energon loss, component damage and optic system shutdown were starting to fill his HDU. He sent another ping directly to Hook and got an arrival estimation. If he could keep the human talking just a bit longer...

“The safety is on,” Spike said. “You murder machines bother with weapon safety?”

“Lord Megatron looks down on shooting off your own foot,” Scrapper replied flatly.

Spike jerkily ran his hands over the weapon and found the safety mechanic, he pulled it with a grunt. “I wonder what he’ll think when I shoot your _head off_!”

Scrapper sent a simple [sorry.] to the other Constructicons. He shut down his optics.

A sudden cacophony of noise made him online his optics again. His remaining optics met Hook’s visor moments before the acid dissolved them. His visor and mouthplate was removed and cold liquid was poured onto his exposed face. There was the sound of a laser cutter. His shovel was manually removed and he was lifted onto on a flat surface.

“—and he just goes wondering off into some building site alone. _Primus Scrapper_ ,” Hook grumbled.

“...Spike,” Scrapper croaked.

“Mech, I admire your guts but I don’t think fragging is one of your top priorities,” Bonecrusher said from somewhere on Scrappers left.

“Spike. The human that attacked me is called ‘ _Spike’_ ,” Scrapper replied with a grimace. 

“Frag, that’s an unfortunate name,” Bonecrusher replied. “By the way, Hook is gonna seal up your shoulder lines best he can then give you an energon transfusion.”

Scrapper hissed in pain as his armour was removed and the welder began to do its work. “Didn’t you...bring pain killers?”

“I didn’t have time to bring everything when I was pinged out of the blue. I thought our team leader wouldn’t just wonder off like an errant new build,” Hook said. “It is _very_ fortunate Mixmaster keeps bases on him to neutralise acid.”

“ _Hook_...” Scrapper whined.

“Once I have stopped being furious you nearly _died_ , I will dote on you like some soft sparked Autobot if that pleases you,” Hook replied tartly.

“Hook...the human—” Scrapper winced as the transfusion tip pierced his arm line. “The human, where is he?”

Longhaul, who was Scrapper’s impromptu medberth, snorted. “Heh, Mixy’ and Scavy’ are fighting over if this ‘Spike’ is gonna be a science experiment or pet by the look of it.”

Spike had not wanted to merely deactivate Scrapper.

If those beams had been capable of piercing his armour he’d have been in agony as his internals were ruptured and he bled out. The acid could have eventually eaten far enough to leak into his processor. Spike wanted to make him suffer first. And he’d nearly succeeded, and now Spike knew joints and optics were a Cybertronian’s weak point.

Images of Scavenger and Mixmaster’s faces melted away with acid, their joints pierced and bleeding as they greyed assaulted Scrapper’s mind.

“Kill it,” Scrapper said.

“What, the human?” Bonecrusher asked.

Scrapper growled, _“Kill. it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep a more light hearted tone but Scrapper was having very little of it beyond snark. :Y


	10. Potato flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tweeted that the great thing about being a fic writer was that I could write anything. I mentioned mechs flying on potato’s as a silly example, then realised I hadn’t written that...
> 
> Warnings for drug use, accidental side effects, drug induced hallucinations of the non distressing kind and questionable medical drug testing practices. Also the weirdness of g1 being fondly ribbed.
> 
> This is not a serious fic.  
> [1 December 2020 - comma edits.]

“Hey, this is fun!” Bonecrusher grinned. But then his potato suddenly surged forwards in excitement. She brayed loudly and began to canter across the sky. “Frag, steady now girl—how are you getting on ‘Haul?”

Longhaul was flying lower than Bonecrusher. The huge oil pudding sea stretched out below him. But Longhaul’s potato was meandering from side to side as if trying to throw him off.   
“I already told you, I don’t know what the frag a po-tat-o is!” Longhaul yelled back.

Bonecrusher frowned. “But you’re flying _on_ a potato—just like me.”

“No, I’m walking though a forest made of rust sticks—I fragging _hate_ rust sticks!” Longhaul growled.

“F-a-acinating,” the sun, who was Mixmaster, said. “Who would have thought the gest-a-alt bond would cause this effect. I’m-m a dancing cyberca-at. We’re all dancing cyber cats!”

“No, you’re the sun Mix’ and we’re potato riders! Primus what kinda slag are you all on?” Bonecrusher sighed in frustration. He patted the potato and his steed rode on across the sea.

* * *

“Well, it looks like Mixmaster’s attempt to make me a new sedative has had...unexpected results,” Hook said as he watched the unconscious mechs. Their charts indicated no harmful side effects to body, but the effect on the mind...

“Is that why my potato’s keeps talking?” Scavenger asked. “Because I don’t think they’re supposed to talk.”

“Scavenger, why do you grow those? I hope you know we can’t ingest them,” Hook said. He politely ignored the dancing green turbo fox trying to distract him. 

“Oh, I just think they’re neat—and Mixmaster distils them into alcohol for chemistry stuff,” Scavenger replied. He paused and tilted his helm. “Oh...my potato turned into a unicorn.”

Hook sighed. “Well I suppose I can at least prove my theory that the gestalt mind is highly interconnected on a sensory and psychological level. Scrapper will be fascinated—oh _slag_.”

* * *

Several rooms away in the officers meeting Scrapper listened to Starscream’s mission report. Apparently he traveled back in time because of something called a ‘wizard’ and fought a predacon single handedly. Rumble also rode Thrust like an electric-equine at one point in a competition with a human.

Then Megatron’s cannon sprouted crystal flowers. As did the weaponry of every mech in the room.Scrapper blinked. 

“Anyway, I bravely made energy for myself and every Decepticon trapped in that time period using organic avian deification,” Starscream boasted. His cannons twinkled with green crystal blooms. “I was...overjoyed to see you Lord Megatron and report my success.”

“The flowers are the most normal thing about this damn meeting,” Scrapper muttered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to quickly thank all the lovely commenters I get. Your comments always make my day <3
> 
> Also, yes, you can make alcohol out of potato’s.


	11. TV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Constructicons watch some programs on their fancy cybertronian television. Another non serous but less surreal fic.
> 
> Warning for Bonecrusher being crude at one point, in team infighting played for humour and sex work being brought up.  
> [1 December 2020 - minor edits]

“I know this isn’t supposed to be accurate —“

“Hook. _don’t_ ,” Bonecrusher growled. “You ruin horror night every fragging time!”

“—but fuel pumps do _not_ look like that. It is blatantly clear that’s a prop,” Hook said. “Also you cannot saw someone in half with a blade like that— _ow_!” Hook yelped when a copper nugget hit him.

Mixmaster continued to pelt Hook with nuggets. “You broke m-my suspension of disbelief!”

“But it isn’t real—it’s a _film_!” Hook yelled back.

Scavenger took advantage of this to collect stray nuggets from the floor like a large neon cleaning drone. 

Hook snarled and grabbed the nugget bowl from a snoring Longhaul’s servos. Then threw it at Mixmaster’s helm. It hit Mixmaster’s cowl with a clunk scattering the nuggets everywhere.

“...I’m going to glue you-r a-aft to your nose,” Mixmaster hissed.

“That threat doesn’t even make sense!” Hook exclaimed.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Bonecrusher chanted.

Scavenger began stuffing his collected nuggets under his mask. The film played on completely ignored as a mech was decapitated. Hook attempted to tie up Mixmaster with his line and only succeeded in entangling them both.

”Oh so _now_ you’re into bonda-a-age!” Mixmaster said.

”I told you, knots don’t work like that. The actor could have easily untied— _arg_!” Hook yelled. Mixmaster had bitten Hook’s nose and looked rather pleased with himself.

Scrapper sighed as he watched the pandemonium unfold. “Next time I am picking the program for the night.”

* * *

  
  


“Wasn’t that a fascinating documentary on Stentarian abstract impressionist fabric patterns?” Scrapper said...to a room of snoring mechs. “for primus sake!”

Hook’s visor blinked online. “Uh—very good dear. Yes that was very interesting.”

Scrapper sighed.

* * *

“Mix’ I think this is just a porn film,” Longhaul said. “I ain’t seeing the subversive antifunctionalism rhetoric or anything.”

“Interfa-ace wor-rk is in itself subversive of functionalis-m—the camera a-angles avoid the clientsfaces to emphasise the identity of the interface worker-rs as workers and m-mechs,” Mixmaster said. “Just because it’s subtle doesn’t m-mean it isn’t there.”

“Huh,” Longhaul said. “...I think I get it.”

“I can see plenty of aft,” Bonecrusher said. “An’ that’s good enough for me.”

“—I hope Switchback gets a big tip,” Scavenger said, tail gently curling. ”She really wants that nice wax for her amica.”

“But the political m-messaging,” Mixmaster insisted. “Can’t either of you see it?”

Bonecrusher sighed, “I was hardly given programming on getting films when they made me.”

“Neither was I,” Mixmaster said. “We don’t need to be Hook or Scrapper and have their fancy Iacon degrees to talk about why a film means something!”

“Okay.” Bonecrusher took a deep vent. “I wanna lick the red mech’s bumper.”

Mixmaster tried to asphyxiate Bonecrusher with a cushion.

* * *

“Urg, that was so _obvious_ ,” Scavenger said.

“Because she was the least likely to do it?” Hook said. “I wouldn’t expect a crystal trimmer to stab someone to death.”

“Hook, she had access to loads of stabby things. And her reaction to finding a dead body was to call the enforcers—no worker class mech in Kaon is going to call the enforcers and expect them to actually solve the crime.”

“Hm. That is a good point,” Hook said. “So, if you are so good at solving these things, how would you kill Scrapper?”

“Pardon?” Scrapper said.

Scavenger put his servo to his chin and frowned. “‘Scrap’s plating is too thick to puncture with a knife and Mix would notice if someone took dangerous chemicals from his storage closet. So I’d get Kickback to give me some Insecticon venom and paralyse Scrapper then put him in the waste disposal furnace.”

Hook and Scrapper shuffled away from Scavenger.

Scavenger flicked his tail anxiously. “...What did I say?”

* * *

“So what are we watching tonight?” Bonecrusher asked.

“We ain’t,” Longhaul said. “I’m going to sleep and you’re all being quiet.”

Scavenger, Bonecrusher, Mixmaster, Hook and Scrapper looked at each other. 

“Yknow,” Bonecrusher said. “considering how this past week has gone perhaps we shouldn't watch anything.”

“We could play a human game,” Scavenger said.

“Sure, whatever,” Longhaul said. “I don’t think even you lot can get at each other’s throats over some squishy nonsense.”

Scavenger wagged his tail. “I’ve found this one called Monopoly...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixmaster is infuriated by being forced to operate in a capitalist system so he gives everyone an equal amount of money.  
> Hook and Scrapper start using the plastic houses to plan street designs and Scavenger steals the little doggy playing piece for his collection because it’s cute. 


	12. Sharp shooter Scavenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the g1 movie Scavenger was surprisingly good with his gun. I felt like perhaps Scavenger is good with fighting if motivated in the right way. 
> 
> And I needed a happy Scavenger fic to make up for the Scavenger angst in earlier chapters.

“Okay Scavy’. I know you’re nervous but you’ll do fine on the shooting range. You’ve just gotta hit at least half of the targets,” Bonecrusher said. “An’ Thundercracker is a laid back officiator.”

“I can’t do it!” Scavenger wailed. “I’m not a warrior. I don’t like fighting or explosions. I’ve never fired a gun—I’m a miner!”

Hook sighed. “Look Scavenger, _none_ of us are warriors. Just hold your vent when you aim then release when you fire.”

“Oh! Yeah that’s good advice, helps you aim,” Bonecrusher said. “An’ remember to take the safety off before you fire—but always assume a gun is charged an’ potentially dangerous, even if you think it’s empty.”

“Bonecrusher, they told us that in orientation,” Scavenger said. “I’m not stupid or anything.” He curled up where he was sitting on Bonecrusher’s lap. If he had a faceplate it’d be pouting.

“See you remembered the safety presentation! You ain't gonna end up like Longhaul an’ shoot your foot off,” Bonecrusher said.

Scavenger uncurled and his optic band was pale. “I could shoot my foot off?! Oh Primus!” He wailed.

“Nice going Bonecrusher,” Hook muttered. “Scavenger, Longhaul fell asleep during the presentation then didn’t link up to get the memories from someone who payed attention. He was an idiot and thats why he got hurt.” Hook grabbed Scavenger’s chin. “You recognise your weaknesses, now recognise your _strengths_.”

Scavenger frowned and twitched his tail. “When Scrapper gives me encouragement it’s less scary.”

“Yes, well Scrapper had to show off and pass the test first try didn’t he,” Hook said. “I bet he’s saying ‘oh, my score was nothing really, only 75%’.”

“And Mix is complaining that they disqualified him for using explosives instead of a gun,” Scavenger said fondly. He vented. “O-okay I think I’m ready.”

* * *

Scavenger picked up his gun and walked to the range.

“You can do it Scavenger!” Longhaul yelled from the observation deck. “Don’t point the gun anywhere you don’t intend to shoot it!” He looked down at the shiny metal of his replacement foot. “Primus, let him be more careful than I was.”

“Remember, hold your vent then release when you fire!” Hook shouted.

“An’ take the safety setting off!” Bonecrusher added.

Scavenger gave them a thumbs up and turned to the range.

“...he’s gonna pass the test right?” Bonecrusher said. “I mean...he’s never done this before but...he’ll pass right?”

Hook vented. “He’s never fired a gun and trips over his own tail. He’s going to fail. This is why I hate doing your job for you Scrapper. I don’t know how to inspire mechs without lying—this is why you’re the leader not me I’m—“

Mixmaster grabbed Hook’s cable and and pulled it violently. “Stop with the pity pa-ar-rty. You’re _not_ the one on the fir-ring range,”

“—Ow!” Hook yelped. “Scrapper Mixmaster is—Scrapper?”

“He’s...hit every target dead in the spark so far,” Scrapper said. His optics were firmly fixed on the firing range.

“What!?” Hook said. He looked and his optic band flashed. “Primus. He’s...how...how is he so good at this?”

Scavenger calmly fired another shot. The targets helm was pierced with a neat laser shot

“...anyone else kinda disturbed by this?” Longhaul said. “This is the mech who watches cartoons for squishy humans, the one with the rainbow equines. _That_ Scavenger.”

“I think he’s finished,” Scrapper said.

Scavenger stood still. His frame shaking in exhaustion. He waved to his team, put his gun back in the rack then walked to the range exit.

* * *

“Did I do okay?” Scavenger asked, his tail curling nervously.

“Scavenger you—“ Hook cleared his vocaliser. “Did very well.”

“Don’t think I could fire at real mechs that easily though. They move around for a start,” Scavenger said. “Thundercracker said I passed...he looked kinda funny. Do you think he’s caught a virus?”

“Uh. Dunno maybe,” Longhaul said.

Bonecrusher elbowed Longhaul.

“You did great Scavy’!” Longhaul exclaimed. “You got...95%. Which is a _lot_. Yeah.”

Bonecrusher grinned. “And it doesn’t matter if they don’t move—why doesn’t Mixmaster make you your favourite energon treat?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Mixmaster will do tha-at,” Mixmaster said. “And we can put on...what is it called again?”

“My little horsie,” Scavenger said. “There’s a double length special episode today!”

“Deep joy,” Hook muttered though gritted teeth.

Bonecrusher employed more elbowing, and some additional glaring.

“Yes, it’s a wonderful twenty two season narrative with lots of sparkly equines,” Hook smiled, and it wasn’t forced. “Anything for our sharpshooter Scavenger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Little Horsie is of course My Little Pony. But in a world where Hasbro likely doesn’t exist, it doesn’t have the same name.


	13. Ponderings of a giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote a Constructicon’s fic about Devastator!  
> This is somewhat inspired by [this tumblr post](https://utility-cavities.tumblr.com/post/167844407758/i-think-i-accidentally-made-menasor-such-a)  
> by Utility-cavities
> 
> Consider checking out their art, they draw some wonderful Constructicon designs :0

Devastator opened his optics to felled organic trees and the smell of smoke. There was no battle raging. He frowned trying to remember why he was here.

“Well what are you standing here for? Go get Menasor!” Starscream yelled. He stood on the ground, keeping the weight off a leg held together with a metal splint. He was dirtied by organic matter and ash. 

“Can you hear me, or are you stupid?” Starscream snarled.

If he had visible optics they would be rolling. Devastator took longer to think, but he _could_ think. So he began to walk, to do his task and get away from the annoying screeching. Devastator followed the path of churned earth and splintered toppled spruce trees. The sunlight was warm and pleasant on his chassis. Birds scattered and took to the sky at his approach, their presence meant Menasor had been gone for some time.

Devastator liked when there wasn’t a battle. He liked being himself. Bruticus saw himself as a tool for his parts which was grotesque. Menasor was young, new to himself. All bright flashes of rage and joy. The Autobot gestalts were naive children, nothing more.

He was far younger than his components, but sometimes surrounded by the other gestalts Devastator felt...old.

He kept walking and the forrest grew slowly silent.

* * *

Soon he came to a destroyed human village on the edge of the forest. Housing units reduced to rubble and human remains scattered in the streets. It was uncoordinated, without plan or reason. Menasor was easy to spot curled up hugging his knees among the ruins.

“Menasor must decombine and return to base,” Devestator said.

“...no,” Menasor growled.

“The Autobots will arrive soon. They do not ignore damage to organic structures or the loss of their lives.” Devastator stepped forwards. “Menasor must _come_.”

“No!” Menasor screamed. “No no no no no!“ the gestalt’s voice rose and he stood up. “I will not hurt! Menasor doesn’t want to end this time.”

“Devastator does not end when I decombine. No more than a seeker lacks wings when it is not in flight.”

“But you are Devastator?” Menasor said, a deep frown on his face. “Not seeker.”

“Uh...” Devestator tried to think of how to explain the concept of metaphor then decided better. “Menasor will still exist when parts are separate, but in the background. Like sleeping.”

Menasour sighed. “We...I...know. We do not like us. We will _hurt_ when I decombine.”

Rage hit the, like like lightening. Who let these mechs gestalt relationship become so broken it brought pain to their combined bring? Who failed them? Who’s duty of care was—

_—it’s ours. Mine. I am the best medic in this war, my work is supposed to be flawless but I failed. I am a failure._

Devastator fell to one knee.

_You need to share this burden with us. This responsibility. We are falling out of sync. We are more likely to succeed if we remain combined._

_I will try._

“Devestator?!” Menasor stood up and looked at Devestator with wide panicked optics.

“I am...we had a conflict, but now it is resolved,” he told Menasor. “Our parts are imperfect but all lift the weight of us—we have had to learn to work as one.”

“You can teach us?” Menasor asked. “Make the pain stop?”

“We can try—I will not promise we can fix you. We can only guide you.”

Menasor looked up at him. “I...okay.”

_He looks so young. Primus, they’re just children._

_Oh no. Team leade-r-rs mother chrom-me chicken program activated._

_Stop it. You just made us snort in the most undignified way._

His focus was brought back by the sound of de-combining. The Stunticons stood uneasily in the crevice left by their combined forms presence. 

“What the fuck happened!” Motormaster yelled at no one in particular.

“Stunticons will come with us,” Devestator said. “Though their own will or Devastator _will_ carry them.” 

Motormaster sneered at Devastator “Fine. Ain’t like we’ve got anything better to do. Stunticons—“

“—can I ride on Devestator’s shoulder? Pleeeese?” Wildrider begged.

Devastator laughed at Motormaster’s indignant face...but ended up carrying _all_ the Stunticons back on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s my birthday today. Yes I’m excited enough to announce that in my ao3 author notes.


	14. Workmechs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longhaul and Bonecrusher aren’t happy about this work assignment. But it works out in the end. Edits will be done in the morning.

“Scrapper this, Hook that, Mixmaster the other—it’s like mechs forget we exist till they need stuff lugged about or blown up,” Longhaul grumbled as he trudged onwards.

“Or until they need the main waste pipe cleaning,” Bonecrusher replied. “...Why are we doing this again?”

Longhaul huffed, this place reeked even drained and closed off. “No fragging idea. Why can’t Hook do this job? Just because he’s some fancy aft surgical engineer doesn’t mean he can’t fix a pipe blockage.”

“Hah! If Hook was sent to do this he’d waste his time scrubbing the waste pipes till they shine,” Bonecrusher said.

“Yeah. And if Scavy’ was sent down here he’d get stuck rooting for stuff.” Longhaul stopped to check his internal map for a moment then continued to walk. “Nearly there, its right in the centre of the pipe as it runs through the ship.”

“Thank Primus!” Bonecrusher exclaimed. “Anyway, Mix would start drinking the waste liquid just to analyse what it is.”

Longhaul grimaced. “‘Crusher that’s disgusting.” 

“And that ain’t the only disgusting thing I’m seeing.” Bonecrusher pointed ahead. An indistinguishable...something filled the pipe. As they got closer Longhaul’s headlights revealed the blockage was a huge hardened mass of discarded fabric cloths and congealed oil.

“...I’m gonna find who’s chucking cloths down the disposal chutes and strangle them,” Bonecrusher growled. “Who needs Autobot’s trying to destroy our base when we’ve got this lot.”

“ _Skywarp_ ,” Longhaul said.

“How do you know that?“ Bonecrusher asked.

“They’re microfibres, those cloths humans use—cheap an’ easy to get in bulk. Rumble an’ Frenzy aren’t daft enough to frag up the ships systems and make themselves miserable too,” Longhaul said. “Or tork off Soundwave.”

“They think we’re just grunts.” Bonecrusher grinned. “We’ve got all that deductive reasoning slag too!”

“Yeah. That an’ the fact I saw Skywarp with a huge box of microfibres yesterday.” Longhaul shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta put two and two together.”

“Speaking of putting things together...recon I could rig up some small explosives an’ break that thing up,” Bonecrusher said. “Feels good I can say that without hearing how I’m gonna blow up the base.”

“‘Crusher I know you’re a good demolitionist. Fragging outsiders, wouldn’t know skill if it hit em in the face.”

“Yeah. I’ve got some of that plastic mini explosive Mixy made. I tested it and it’ll yield the right amount of force...and a lovely blue an’ green flash according to Mix’.”

“That mech an’ making pretty explosives, what next, glitter?” Longhaul sighed. “After we blow this thing we’re gonna have to pick it up...having a soggy waste fluid covered subspace ain’t exactly my idea of a nice evening.”

Bonecrusher huffed. “Someone’s gotta do it right?”

Longhaul smiled. “...how about we make sure next time it ain’t us?’

—

“Do I _have_ too?” Skywarp whined. His wings twitched as he looked around the filthy waste pipe.

[Yeah you fragging do. Soundwave said we’re in charge of your punishment duty,] Longhaul commed with a smirk. “More hot oil ‘Crusher?”

“Of course ‘Haul,” Bonecrusher grinned. “its what hardworking mechs like us deserve after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update to this fic! I always find Underconstruction relaxing to work on between my other fic projects. And I want to thank my readers, your comments and kudos have really helped give me the drive to keep adding to this fic <3


	15. Beware the quiet ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is, well, pretty dark. Probably a bit depressing too. Warning for character death, gore and Scavenger angst.
> 
> I’ll work on something happier and likely sillier for the next chapter.

Jazz had evaluated the risks of the Decepticon gestalts destabilising due to deactivations. If all but one of the Constructicon’s died the only remaining individuals likely to remain active combatants would be Longhaul or Bonecrusher. Hook, Scrapper and Mixmaster would destroy themselves. 

“Prowl...I fragged up—“ Jazz choked on his half melted internals. “I was wrong...”

“Jazz, please stop talking,” Prowl said. “First Aid is working as fast as he can but—“

“He planned this,” Jazz said. “He knew Grimlock was off base.” Jazz laughed. “I sure picked a bad time to...speed off ahead in our race back home didn’t I?”

The volcano the Arc rested in had erupted and they had been caught at the edge of it. Most of the Protectorbots were desperately looking for any Cybertronian or human survivors. So far they had only found more corpses. At least that was what Jazz gathered from First Aid’s morose expression. 

“Jazz. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Prime still lives,” Prowl said. His armour was pockmarked and warped by heat damage and debris but he’d closed his vents to the superheated ash. Jazz hadn’t.

“Prowler this isn’t about Prime. It’s about the Dinobots...he knew the other Dinobots, Ratchet and ‘Jack were in—“ Jazz coughed. “—The arc. Scavenger knew.”

“Scavenger? But he isn’t dangerous. His combat and tactical skills are minimal,” Prowl said. “You calculated-“

“I was wrong. He set off the eruption. You’ve got to run.” Jazz reached out with his good hand and grabbed Prowl’s arm. “He knows who ordered the Dinobots to attack the Constructicons. It’s about _you_.”

Prowl didn’t get the chance to reply. There was a bright flash and his helm exploded. His processor matter splattered on Jazz’s chassis. First Aid yelped and the Dinobots roared in response. 

“Hook told me I was the best shot in the team.” Scavenger looked down on them from the cliffs the Autobot’s had sheltered under.

“You...killed him!” Jazz gasped. “He...didn’t—“

“He killed my gestalt. The other parts of my spark. I feel the silence of their voices.” Scavenger said.

“Me Grimlock will crush him Scavenger!” Grimlock roared.

Scavenger dropped his gun. “I don’t care. Your creators are dead. So are your other parts.” His tail curled. “You kill me you’ll still be alone. Forever.”

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Grimlock roared in anguish.

“I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m moving house soon into the countryside and hopefully will get some more inspiration for this fic. But I’ll be offline for a day or so.
> 
> This chapter has been in my drafts for a bit so I decided to get it posted...possibly at the worst time to post depressing fic but anyway. :P


	16. Humans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fic about the Constructicons turning human. Not overly lewd but Mixmaster is playing with his chest kibble. Alien robots complain about the ridiculousness of gender rolls and binary gender.

Scrapper looked at his seated team. “Because of our, ah, condition the Autobot’s have captured us easily. Now Hook has a theory as to what happened...“

Hook nodded. “Yes. Now, I am not a scientist but I am an expert engineer. I know a magic powered matter transfiguration device when I see it. I believe it converted us to these carbon based life forms based on the pre-existing template of its human creators—“ 

Scrapper noticed Scavenger frowning and cleared his throat. “Ah. Hook could you try a _simpler_ explanation?”

Hook sighed loudly. “The glowing rock at the human ruin known as ’Stonehenge’ turned us into humans—Mixmaster! stop fiddling with your chest kibble, it’s distracting.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a-any,” Mixmaster said. He stood up and put his hands on his hips. “But apparently mine are illegal which is a load of slag.”

“How can having lumpy chest things is illegal?” Bonecrusher said.

“Carly the human told me I had to wear this.” Mixmaster pulled on the the fabric covering his chest. “Or it’s like...having your interface cables out in public.”

Longhaul frowned. “...I though the other things were like an interface cables.”

“And it means you’re a ‘man’. Which is ridiculous because I’m an excavator!” Scavenger exclaimed.

Mixmaster shrugged. “I don’t m-mind being called a ‘woman’ or ‘she’. But there’s so many weir-rd human rules about being a ‘woman’. It’s like Cybertron all over again.”

“—that’s enough!” Hook said. “We aren’t going out in human society, so I don’t see why we have to even bother with their norms.”

Scrapper smiled. “Well I have always wanted a better look at human architecture.”

Hook wanted to say no. But he’d forgotten what that smile did to him when it wasn’t hidden behind a mask. It made his common sense circuits jettison. “Fine. But only because it’s better than being stuck in here with Autobots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I’m slowly getting some inspiration back <3


	17. Staying over for the summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who gets two chapters in one day? My lovely readers thats who! <3
> 
> This is a continuation of the University chapter, set a few years in the future.

“I was so dammed close!” Hook moaned. “I’d passed my practical and theoretical exam with the highest grades in the class—then I get expelled before I can graduate.”

“Yea-ah but you have got the skills to be a m-medic,” Mixmaster told him. “And you’ve still got your-r engineering degr-ree.” 

“Without the qualification on my record those skills mean nothing. I wanted to be a surgical engineer. Without a medic license I can’t work on living metal. I was going to treat cityformers, gestalts and titan class shuttles.” Hook lowered his helm to the table and didn’t feel like ever lifting it again.

“Yea-ah but you could still do it.” Mixmaster gestured broadly with his servo. “You think m-my family had a construction degr-ree to build our nest?”

Hook had recently found out about Mixmaster being insectikin. It had explained a great deal about him. Mainly why he could eat things that would kill other mechs. He looked up at the room he was in properly for the first time.

The nest was made of concentric layers of concrete, but each layer varied in colour and texture. From the outside it appeared as a cluster of orbs that bubbled out of the canyon wall. Though Hook had barely payed attention to it.

“I was so busy being miserable I didn’t pay much notice,” Hook admitted. “The construction method is unknown to me and the structural shapes are like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“So in Hook speak that’s ‘you’ve got a lovely hom-me Mix’.” Mixmaster laughed. “Feel free to pester my progenitors and sibs about how they built this.”

“Really?” Hook said.

Mixmaster grinned. “Trust me. Building by regurgitation ta-akes wa-ay more skill than m-mechs think.”

* * *

Scrapper’s optics lit up. “That is fascinating—could you take some image captures for me? Praxus has wonderful architecture but it’s rather homogenous.”

“Of course!” Hook said. “But anyway, how are you?”

Scrapper smiled. The video was slightly out sync poor due to the reception, but Hook could still see some melancholy in his optics.

“My course is going well and I am enjoying it. Art wasn’t something I could do as a job. As for architecture? Well I’ll be able to buy you that laminated double hook you wanted.”

“It won’t be used for any medical purposes,” Hook said.

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Scrapper told him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”


End file.
